


Aren't You Supposed To Be A Statue? And Dead?

by Moony_07



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Disassociation, Dogs, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, Humor, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Gravity Falls, Post-Weirdmageddon, Service Dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moony_07/pseuds/Moony_07
Summary: (I didn't age up the characters, but you know what I did do? Go years into the future after Weirdmageddon. Imagining what the future would be like in their universe is more fun than just aging them up.)There's something missing and it, surprisingly enough, isn't the entirety of Gravity Falls. Really, it could've been, but thankfully wasn't because of two kick-ass twins and their weird little family.Now they're older and still carry the scars that Weirdmageddon gave them.But hey, there's a dog.And a demon.... Wait, wasn't he supposed to be dead-
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Aren't You Supposed To Be A Statue? And Dead?

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who has a C in AP Human Geo and didn't take into account the fact that it's a college class, and therefore that C is actually a B in my GPA.  
I still have to do test corrections, but hey, I haven't posted in what feels like twenty years.  
I'm fully aware my other work isn't finished, and that's not because I've hit a block plot-wise, but because I've hit a block writing-wise.
> 
> So, fun.  
Fan-fuckin'-tastic.

Let me get this straight: I’m not completely insane.

I’ve had my fair share of hallucinations and nightmares and weird-ass dreams, but this just… This is different.  _ Somehow  _ it’s different. Like one of those feelings that you can’t describe, coming into the picture whenever something that probably shouldn’t happen makes itself present.

The  _ Twilight  _ movies are less fucking weird than this shit, I swear.

I keep meeting some blondie in my dreams.

It’s getting a tad bit annoying, to be a hundred percent honest.

He’s sitting cross-legged in front of me now. Weird symbols seem to be tattooed on his wrists and upper arms. Some are like bracelets, like the two parallel lines wrapping around his biceps with little triangles taking up space in the middle. I think he’s in an Illuminati cult. That’d be the one thing that actually makes sense.

There’s a tiny smirk pulling at the edge of his lips as he just  _ watches me intently _ , face held up by a sunkissed hand pressed against his cheek. I can see little confetti-like flecks of gold swimming around in a single golden eye, the other covered by an eyepatch. Peculiar.

Why does this feel so damn  _ familiar? _

“Am I dreaming?” I ask, but can’t even remember moving my mouth as soon as the words echo through the white expanse of nothingness.

His face breaks into a grin, eyebrows quirking up for a second as he overdramatically exclaims, “I’m swooning, Pine Boy, I really am!” Hand placed over what might be whatever he has for a heart and the other draped over his forehead.

“Pine Boy,” I deadpan, “Creative.”

“I’d call you by the actual tree, but that’s a bit overused.”

“Noted.”

“Do you remember me, perhaps?”

“Nope,” I pop the word, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“How old are you now? Nineteen? Thirty?”

“That’s a very big age gap you just left in the middle, and I’m fucking twenty-two.”

The man pats a little jar by his knees, saying, “Swear jar.”

“Was that there two seconds ago?”

“Probably. Shit just appears.”

“Ah!” I catch him, “Swear jar.”

His smile broadens.  _ Does this dude ever stop grinning? _

The blondie takes my hands in his and yanks me up to my feet.  _ Was he even standing up before?  _ This feels like a movie with clipped out pieces, but it’s the present, so I  _ should  _ be able to remember simple actions like standing up,  _ right? _

“Hold on to somebody,” he murmurs.

“You’re literally the only other person he-”

Flashes of scenery run by us at high speed, like looking out of the window of a moving train, blues of the sea, greens of the forests, browns of bark, the lime of rolling hills, animals, people, traffic, massive cities, tiny countrysides.  _ All the sounds only coming in as the murmur of commoners and distant chirping, croaking, waves crashing over the coast. _

I can’t fucking  _ breathe  _ until we finally come to a halt.

Like a car slamming on the breaks, I stumble forward, bringing the blond man with me, since I’m pretty much surgically attached to his arm by now.

Then I rip my grip away from him, feeling my face catch on fire.

Jesus Christ, that man is a living heater. 

As I feel like I’m about to hurl up whatever the fuck is in my stomach, a cool breeze sweeps by, leaves scraping against the grass and trees. We’re on top of a hill, looking down on a small town. I know this place. It’s gloomy but comforting. A pine forest looms behind us, God  _ knows  _ what’s scurrying around on the inside.

“Do you remember this place?” he asks in a murmur, glancing my way.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Dunno. I think… I think my gruncle lives here?”

He snorts at the name. “Yeah.”

“The trees behind us are… Ominous.”

“They always have been.”

Conversation falls short. He looks at me, I look at him.

And then I’m looking at the ceiling of my bedroom, glow stars staring right back at me.

My seven-year-old Australian Shepherd is laying over my lower legs, keeping me from moving by the mental law of being  _ a good pet owner. _ Her name is Hestia, and her fur is a bunch of splatters of orange, grey, white, and black.

"C'mere, baby," I coo in a high-pitched voice, sitting up and opening my arms.

Hestia visibly perks up, barrelling over to me at full power even though I'm only about two feet away. Fluff pelts me in the face and she cuddles into my hug, whining happily. I sigh into her fur, combing my fingers through it.

**Author's Note:**

> Naming dogs after gods is the best thing ever and I won't stop at Hestia.
> 
> Also, good GOD do I love writing about mental issues. Not that they're good things, but it's a fun challenge that helps yank me right out of writers' block.
> 
> Well, not this time, since I'm not exactly over the current block.
> 
> Whatever. I'll finish the last one or I won't. I don't plan on freaking myself out over fanfiction while I have a college class to be focusing on. In the first year of high school. Whoops.
> 
> (Someday he'll be saying "C'mere, baby." to Bill and that day will be filled with fluff.)


End file.
